


there is no one compares with you

by girl0nfire



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge: October 2012 [2]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M, cuddly feelings time, my favorite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in between fighting on the helicarrier and falling in love, Steve and Tony had a lot of little moments like these.  For the 30 Day OTP Challenge, prompt "cuddling somewhere".</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is no one compares with you

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2 of the [30 Day OTP Challenge](http://ericandy.tumblr.com/post/26596382488/ericandys-30-day-otp-challenge) on Tumblr. Best paired with ["In My Life"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suuU3mliNo8) by the Beatles.

“I can’t believe that it took me this long to sort it out.”

Steve rolls onto his side, wincing as his back unsticks from the wood of the floor. He props his head up on a fist and watches Tony’s eyes slowly revolve as they track the lazily-turning ceiling fan blades.

It’s hot; the air in the room hangs thick and heavy, dust motes sinking slowly around them as the fan scatters them about. August in New York is nothing to write home about, and Steve’s not quite sure why Tony had insisted on bringing them to his old SHIELD-issue apartment, except for the record player, but right now Steve’s wishing that they’d stayed in his air-conditioned room in the tower. Especially considering how they’d both had to shed their shirts just to make his humid living room bearable.

Tony swallows, slowly, his eyes never leaving the fan as he answers.

“Really? And you thought, what, exactly, that I just had a superb collection of near-mint 45s that just so _happened_ to be of bands that you had taken a recent interest in?”

He huffs out a laugh, dry against the wet-hot air, and finally turns his head to gaze up at Steve.

“Come on Rogers, even _I_ thought it was a pretty obvious plan.”

Another chuckle, and Steve’s eyes drop down to Tony’s hands, resting folded on his stomach as it rises and falls with his laughter. There’s a sheen of sweat gleaming across his chest, and the soft glow of the reactor cuts through the haze of the room and casts faint shadows along the hollow of his throat.

Steve’s silent, and the record player skips tracks in the background with a staticky thud before slow guitar notes fill the air, climbing upward and then repeating. Steve shifts, laying his back onto the floor again and sighing at the feel of the cooled wood against his skin. He presses his shoulder against Tony’s, mirroring his gaze up at the slowly-turning ceiling fan, and clears his throat.

“…You don’t have to do that, Tony.”

He pauses, but he knows that even though Tony’s posture hasn’t shifted from his practiced nonchalance, he’s hanging upon Steve’s every word.

“You don’t have to try so hard. You don’t need to keep inventing reasons for us to spend time together. I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m _more_ than interested in spending _a lot_ of my time alone with you.”

On “alone”, Steve insinuates his arm underneath Tony’s shoulders, sweat-dampened skin dragging along the thick callous on his palm from the shield, and pulls the smaller man closer. Tony makes a small noise as he’s moved, rearranging himself onto his stomach so he can rest his chin on Steve’s chest, and for the first time since they put the record on, brown eyes meet blue.

If there’s anything Steve’s learned in the few months he’s spent cooped up in a glorified Avenger flophouse with Tony Stark, it’s that patience is the only way to drag something out of the man. No amount of prodding will convince him to let loose his words, and even one syllable out of place will cause Tony to tighten his hold on them even more.

So instead, Steve holds Tony’s gaze, his hand tracing lazy patterns along the wings of the man’s shoulder blades, drawing out small shivers. They lay there for a while, nearly unblinking, and it’s almost as if Steve can see the gears turning in Tony’s mind, the finely-tuned machinery inside his head separating what’s safe to say from what’s not.

Tony seems to come to a decision, his jaw working for a moment as he mulls his thoughts over one last time, and Steve’s hand stills, coming to wrap around the smaller man’s waist.

“Steve.”

It’s not what Steve had expected to hear, his name falling from Tony’s lips in a whisper, but Steve waits. There’s more.

Tony brings a hand up from where it’s been tucked inside the front pocket of Steve’s jeans and presses the flat of his palm against the center of Steve’s chest.

“You’re not going anywhere. You want to stay here.”

They’re two questions that sound like statements, the only hint at Tony’s uncertainty being the wideness of eyes, the slight tremble in his fingertips where they meet Steve’s collarbone. Steve sucks in a breath to reassure him, but he’s not quick enough to head off the babble that’s working it’s way out of Tony’s mouth.

“Because it would be a _goddamned_ miracle, Steve, if I didn’t manage to run you off. I’ve been Tony Stark long enough to know better than anyone that the whole boy-genius Midas-touch thing is bullshit. _Every day_ I’m amazed that I haven’t managed to scare you away, because everything I try to hold tight ends up a million miles away and pissed at me, it’s why I always keep people at an arm’s length, except _you_ and that stupid glow-in-the-dark smile and for some ridiculous, irrational reason I can’t seem to…”

The words have been streaming out so fast that they’ve clogged; Tony gapes for a moment, so full of words that not a single one can make it out first, and Steve takes the opportunity to press a finger against Tony’s still-open lips.

Gripping his waist more securely, Steve brings his other hand up to cover Tony’s on his chest.

“ _Tony_.”

Tony hinges his mouth shut, his eyes bright and still too-wide, and Steve continues.

“I’m not going to let you. I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

Curling his fingers around Tony’s hand, Steve hauls him up, using the arm around the man’s waist to settle Tony against his side. Tony hesitates for a moment before throwing one leg across Steve’s, pressing his jaw into the dip of Steve’s shoulder. He sighs, and the short puff of breath ruffles Steve’s hair, sending a sharp shiver down his neck.

Tony’s fingers find space between his, the pad of Tony’s thumb tracing vectors along the back of Steve’s hand, and as they watch the ceiling fan continue it’s never-ending swing, the record player slows to a halt with a scraping squeal.

Somewhere in the static that follows, Steve feels more than hears Tony’s half-whispered, “Me either.”


End file.
